A very desi (Indian) gay man living in-between New Delhi and New York.
Well the blog isn't really a secret one, but the reason I chose 'underground' in the title? - So that I can live in the illusion that I try to be a little discreet about my perpetually high libido
Jalandhar, Punjab - I
Jalandhar. There are days, in this bitchy, awful, lonely, lovely city where I now live, called Delhi when I do miss you. I think, ‘how does it feel to have grown up your entire life in one town?’ To have known all your neighbours. To have grown up with your neighbours. To not have to shift schools. To see the town change and call those changes your own. I do miss how growing up in Jalandhar we never had to worry about space. There were streets which didn’t have running cars, there were parks which didn’t have gates, there were familiar faces who smiled back when I smiled at them. I don’t know when did the many patriarchs who inhabit you became everything that I could ever take from you. I don’t know when did those many patriarchs who live in you, love you, hate you, fuck you, get fucked by you, became…….you.
MY patriarch….is a lot like you.
YOU are a lot like my patriarch.
You both are cheaters. You both thrive on pride. You both beat your women. You both tell me to not look you in your eye. You both keep telling me I am a failure at being a man. I hear you are not a town anymore. Empty streets have become showrooms, old houses have become malls, your stoop has become more prominent, your pagdi (turban) has gotten thinner.
I want to love you. Not just because I was born in you, not just because I was brought up by you, but because……I just do! Even when you repeatedly call me a chakka, even when you accuse Delhi of ruining me, even when you tell my parents that I must have gotten fucked by many men from all over Delhi.….I do want to give you a chance. Ok, before you say anything Jalandhar, I know it’s been a while since I met you. Every now and then, you keep saying ‘I love you’ to me. You keep asking me, when will I come back. But I don’t want to come back not just because it will remind me of what I was but it will force me to imagine what I would have become had I not left you. I have been building myself against your masculinity so fiercely that I tried to claim some of my family’s women’s femininity. After being denied that femininity too, I just hovered…in between. My femininity shifted whenever I crossed the streets with my elder sister trying to avert your patriarchs’ eyes. My masculinity roared trying to hide my love for tamarind. My ‘in between’ applauded whenever I slyly looked at my school seniors play basketball, shirtless, in the mornings. My ‘in between’ stood by when you didn’t.
The last time, I was looking at you through a video call, at your changing localities, changing skies, at Lakhbir aunty’s new railings at her house, at Shayar uncle’s famous garden tree, I unexpectedly came face to face with your patriarch. My patriarch. Both, you and me, knew fully well, that this might just be the last time we both look into each other eyes, and after customary small talk, you said, “Akhil puttar….i love you”. I looked at the pixelated you for 2 seconds, smiled faintly, thinking of all the lost opportunities, lost friendships, lost lovers, lost family, and with the urge to cry, scream and laugh at the same time, I just said, “acha papa ko zara waapis phone pakdana”*.
Everyone keeps talking about how great open relationship really is. Yes it is. In case you were wondering that this post was going to be me bitching about open relationships, it isn't. However, I do want to talk about what the most difficult part for me has been...being in an open relationship. It's been my tussle with figuring out intimacies. One thing that I have always been very clear in my head about before going into bed with anyone is that I can NOT get it up without being intimate with the other person. By intimacy I don't mean showering 'I love you's' or 'I want to spend the rest of my life with you' (thinking of which I have said 'I love you' to barely 5 people in my life) but requiring a minimum level of attachment with the other person. It could perhaps be me being attracted to the way he smells, or how intelligent he is, or good to talk to. I can not do anything without talking to the other person for some good time (which
I am now writing my first post of 2016! Sorry for taking 4 months since writing my last post. I was going through a terrible job crisis (which I have now quit and feel incredibly happy about, so yay!) and was just not in the mood to write anything. First of all, I don't know if I have mentioned this before or not but I am not anonymous anymore about DUG (Ugh, short form of my blog doesn't sound too cool, does it?). I have linked my instagram profile and twitter account to this blog. So I thought I would link both of those here as well. Second of all, it's been more than 5 years since I started writing this blog bitches! I am not ashamed of admitting that I had started writing my diary after watching the first episode of first season of The Vampire Diaries (yes, very lame but I am still watching the show and it has become very very painful) AND that I started writing this blog after watching Sex and the City (too bad I don't have fucking amazing deals like C
I remember I saw you the first time in a Youtube video. Just another celebrity crush I guess. I obsessed about you. I obsessed about going to Tihar and fantasized about meeting you as your lawyer. To see deep into your eyes, feel your (supposed) pain and touch you while quoting obscure penal sections on sedition. I imagined your deep husky voice wrapping me. After that my regular visits to JNU (Jawaharlal Nehru University) became……sexual visits to JNU. Random streets for me started acquiring intimacy. Silly administrative block steps became potential PDA spots. One afternoon, I finally saw you. I saw you lying down on a sofa, with your head on your girlfriend’s lap and I recalled countless boys I had fantasized about before and how their girlfriends were always the Komolika to my Kausauti Zindagi Ki. You casually looked up, saw me for one second and continued on with your life. The moment I left the room, I imagined how you would leave the room. You would think who that boy w